


we've all got a long way to go

by dirty_diana



Category: Travelers (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Ethics, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Misunderstandings, Time Travel, pregnant through time travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 16:56:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14430066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirty_diana/pseuds/dirty_diana
Summary: some variables can't be accounted for.





	we've all got a long way to go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [outwhore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/outwhore/gifts).



> Set in some imagined time after Grace's trial but before the team confronts 001. Thanks to S for the ridiculously last minute beta.

"You and my host were close." The way Grace was glaring at him made the statement sound like an accusation. Or a question? Across her desk, Grace tapped her fingers as she watched him, impatiently waiting for an answer. 

Trevor frowned at her, fingers steepled, elbows resting on the arms of his chair. "I thought this appointment was for talking about my graduation plans."

Grace rolled her eyes. "Please. You've seen more and know more than any of these losers. You don't need a piece of paper to affirm that."

"Wow. Was that a compliment?" 

"I don't know." Grace's words came out at breakneck speed, dripping with dismissiveness. "Is saying that you're smarter than a pack of horny, stoned teenagers a compliment?"

"Thanks for that, Grace, but I inherited my host's poor academic record and I actually would like to graduate. Besides, Gary promised to help me buy my own car if I make it."

"Bribery," Grace scoffed. "That is terrible child-rearing. No wonder your host was a mess."

"Grace," Trevor said, admonishingly.

"What? I've read your disciplinary history."

Trevor had read his host's record on arrival, but if even half the stories that circulated the hallways were true, it seemed probable that it was incomplete. The old Trevor Holden was still something of a legend in this high school, and everything 0115 did only seemed, uncomfortably, to add to the teenage mythos. He stood, rubbing his hands against his jeans. "If we're not actually going to discuss my options, I think I'm going to go back to study hall. I have a paper to write."

"I don't know why you bother!" Grace yelled after him.

*

Despite Grace's words, Trevor found that even the routine moments of inhabiting the world of a high-schooler in the current time had its rewards. The twelfth-graders reminded him so much of his own kids at that age. Bright and unpredictable, with more flashes of genuine brilliance than Grace or most of the teachers would ever give them credit for. 

In other moments, though, they were all terrifying to be around.

"I think you should get down from there," Trevor said, watching Kevin Begaye balance his skateboard on the edge of the graffiti-plastered levee that led down to the local ravine.

Kevin snickered. "Fuck off, Trev. You sound like an old man."

Trevor didn't reply, and Kevin continue to thread his way across the ledge in dirty canvas shoes.

"What's up with you and Ms. Day?"

Trevor's features froze into the best mask of innocence that he could manage. "Nothing's up. She's just doing her job. Helping me achieve my full potential."

"Uh huh. Just seems like you two are always whispering." 

"It's nothing."

Kevin sat down, legs dangling, and pulled a fresh joint out of his pocket. He took a deep breath, as if he were gathering his nerves. "She's not making you do anything, like, weird, is she? Not like Coach--" The boy broke off, abruptly.

Trevor wondered, not for the first time, if the justice they'd managed to get for Coach Perry's victims was anything remotely close to what the man had deserved. He shook his head, his voice gentle. "Nothing's going on, Kevin. I promise."

"Yeah, okay." Kevin scrubbed at dry eyes with his empty hand. "You got a light?"

*

"Where the hell is 3468?" Grace was inside the garage, impatiently shifting her weight from one leg to the other. "If he's the one who received the messenger, then shouldn't he be the first one here?"

"Why are _you_ here?" Marcy asked, with scornful emphasis.

"Right. I'm just the programmer," Grace said, loudly. "No one remembers me except when they need me to make the impossible happen."

Marcy folded her arms over her chest and didn't reply. Philip rolled his chair closer to her, the wheels squealing sharply as they dragged across the floor. He didn't say anything, but instead sat beside her silently.

Trevor focused his attention on Grace. She was alternating between standing restlessly and walking in stilted circles. Her shoulders were held in a high, tense position. "You're the one who wanted to tag along, Grace," he said. "Sit down, already. Do you have ants in your pants?"

That distracted Grace enough to stop her in her tracks. She stared at him with narrowed eyes. "Ants. In my pants?"

"Yeah." Trevor shrugged. "It's something Patricia says."

"Well, it sounds sexual."

"Ew," Philip said.

"Sorry I'm late, everyone." Carly arrived through the garage's front door, still in the muddy overalls that she'd worn to work. "The boss kept everyone back."

Trevor glanced over at Grace, but despite her earlier rant she didn't seem to have anything to say on the topic of Carly's tardiness. She stared at Carly thoughtfully, while Philip held out a fast food paper bag.

"No big deal, since the boss isn't here yet. We got you dinner."

"Are you going to eat that?" 

Grace came to stand at Trevor's left shoulder, jabbing her index finger to point at the cheeseburger he was already eating. Trevor raised his eyebrows, but didn't loosen his hold on his sandwich. "Grace. What do we say?"

"Are you going to eat that fucking burger, please." Grace's voice was heavy with exasperation. Philip snickered.

"You can have mine," Marcy said, unexpectedly. "I'm not hungry."

On Grace's face, surprise mingled with outright suspicion for a moment. She accepted the wax paper wrapped burger in Marcie's outstretched hand. "Thank you."

Marcy simply shrugged.

"You're welcome to half of my milkshake," Trevor added, holding out the paper cup. Grace glared at him, but took it immediately.

The whole room watched in silence as Grace unwrapped the burger and dug in.

"Whoa," Philip said, watching as Grace inhaled the sandwich in four bites. "Skip lunch?"

"And breakfast," Grace grumbled with her mouth full.

The rest of the explanation was cut off by the noise of Grant's arrival. "New mission, everybody. Gather round."

"What do you think we've been doing?" Grace grumbled, before draining Trevor's milkshake in a breathless gulp.

*

The missing team worked out of a small bungalow on the south side of town. It was much cozier than their garage, curtains thrown open to the daylight. The dishes were washed, clean, and stacked in a plastic rack by the sink.

"This doesn't look like an abduction, boss," Trevor said, when he'd completed a full circuit of the house.

Carly came out of the last empty bedroom, her gun arm extended in front of her. She squinted at Trevor expressionlessly, then holstered her weapon. "Maybe they weren't taken from here."

"Or maybe they left on their own," Grant suggested.

"You're thinking Faction?" Marcy asked.

"I'm not thinking anything," Grant said. "Instructions from the Director. Check for traces of hazardous materials or anything not related to their missions here."

Trevor shook his head, looking around once more. There was an old-fashioned clock in the corner, ticking each second, and the noise had drawn his attention. "I don't like this. They could be in trouble."

"Or we could," Marcie said. "We can't trust anyone."

"Has the Faction ever simply vanished into thin air before?" Trevor asked. "I'm not ready to go convicting a team we've never encountered."

Carly ignored the budding argument. "Philip. Anything?"

"No messages on the dark web. And no luck tracing their communicators."

"They could be jammed?"

"Or about a million other things," Grace cut in, unexpectedly. "They could have be out of range, or have passed through an EMP field, or be at high altitude. Or under water--"

"Let's assume it's not that last one," Grant suggested, interrupting. "I think the Director would know if they'd acquired a submarine."

*

"Psst," Philip said in his ear the next day. "Turn on your phone."

Trevor slowed mid-stride, attracting an aggravated look from the young mom pushing a stroller along the jogger's path. She maneuvered around him, huffing in annoyance. "I'm not even sure I have my phone on me."

"Yeah, you do." Philip answered lightly. "Sixteenth and Seaport, right?"

"That's creepy," Trevor complained. He leaned against a low stone wall that bordered the park, and began to search the pockets of his grey, washed-out hoodie. The screen's loading screen dissolved after a moment, and a message from Philip popped up. Trevor tapped it open.

_10:37: Hi._

11:07: What's so important we couldn't discuss it over comms?

_11:08: Probably nothing. I just didn't want to worry the team. Is Grace acting weird to you?_

Trevor chuckled out loud, and a new message popped up.

_11:09: No, this is some kind of new weird. She seems really distracted. Forgetful? And last night she asked me a lot of weird questions about you._

11:09 Weird how?

_11:10 Just a lot of stuff about what you were up to before she got here? Actually felt a bit like an interrogation._

Trevor shifted against the wall, thinking that over for a moment. Before he could formulate a response, the phone vibrated a new message.

_11:11 She'd tell us if someone from the Faction had contacted her, right?_

11:11 Grace is not a traitor.

Trevor tapped the letters too hard, as if force could make the Director, in the future, understand how hard he believed it. But the Director knew Grace even better than he did, surely. He'd already tried her, and found her innocent.

_11:12 Well, something's going on with her._

11:13 You don't have to be the caretaker of the entire team, you know.

Trevor stared at his phone for a silent minute before the answer came, watching tiny droplets of rain bounce off the surface.

_11:15 Cause I've got so many other things to do._

A teenage girl passing with her friends smiled at him, and Trevor blinked in surprise before smiling back. In the future, in the shelters, they'd spoken of the citizens of the Twenty-First as greedy and spoiled children who'd seen the end coming and done nothing. But no story was ever that simple.

*

"Trevor. Why are you calling me?" Grace's phone was tilted at the wrong angle, and her face appeared as a suspicious sliver with narrowed eyes.

"No reason. Just wondered what you were up to today."

Grace's eyes narrowed at him. "Why?"

"What do you mean?" Trevor asked. "Can't friends check on other friends?" 

"Friends," Grace muttered, as if the word was foreign to her. "That makes sense."

"Great. I could come over, actually. I was about to stop by this deli for lunch. They make their own kim chi. It's delicious." Trevor's stomach grumbled as he spoke. Being in the host body of a seventeen year old male had its upsides, but it seemed as if he was hungry almost all of the time.

There was a greenish tinge to Grace's cheeks. She shook her head. "I'm working on something. Can't stop to eat."

"Oh, okay. Working on what?"

"You wouldn't understand," Grace said, blinking at him, and then the call disconnected.

* 

It was a grey, windy day, and the garage was cold. Trevor touched his fingers to the warm glass of Poppy's cage , and her bright black eyes swiveled towards his direction.

"It's like they dropped off the face of the Earth," Philip complained. "No bank account use, no hits from the GPS on their cars. Nothing."

"Dead people don't drive or need money," Carly pointed out, then shrugged when the whole team turned to stare at her. "What? It's true."

"I'm not ready to give up," Grant said. He was wearing off-duty clothing, dark jeans and a sweater rolled up at the sleeves. "We'll need more to close the case than a cold trail."

"It's more than cold," Marcy said quietly. Grant frowned at her, and she continued. "The Director doesn't have any idea where we should look."

Phillip finished the thought. "That means they're never found."

The garage's doorbell rang, making an irritated buzzing sound. The team looked blankly at each other. Finally, Trevor got up. 

Trevor said. "I'll get it."

*

The messenger was eight or nine, hanging tightly to the leash of a huge, shaggy black dog. The dog barked at Trevor, then subsided in confusion. "Traveler 0115," the messenger began, in a soft, high voice.

*

Trevor returned half an hour later. He'd walked the befuddled second-grader back to a street that she recognised, and stopped for food on the way home.

Grant blinked. "The Director wants us to shake down a drug dealer?"

"Just for the gun," Trevor answered, shrugging. Grant gestured in frustration, rubbing the small knot of a frown in the middle of his forehead.

"Oh, good. We haven't graduated to stealing illegal drugs yet."

"Harder to change the timeline with drugs, I guess." Trevor spoke into the bag of food, busily digging through the pile of side orders and labeled sandwiches. He squinted at the writing on the wrapped sandwiches, and handed Grant the top one, marked "vegan".

Trevor pulled a stray piece of lettuce out of his sandwich, and dropped it into the aquarium.

Philip sighed. "Don't spoil my turtle," he said, and Trevor grinned.

Grant was still scowling at his sandwich. "So Traveler 3976--"

"Or someone on his team," Carly broke in. It was weird-sweet, how they still finished each other's thoughts sometimes.

"Or someone on his team," Grant agreed, "lost a gun? Or had it taken from him?"

"I guess you'll have to ask the drug dealer when you find him," Philip said, shrugging nonchalantly when the others glanced over at him. "Oh, yeah, I'm not going anywhere near a drug den. You guys have fun."

"That's fine," Grant said. "Stay here and work on the computer tracking. Speaking of which, where's Grace? Trevor, Marcy said she was, uh, stalking you?"

Philip glanced over at Trevor, catching his gaze. He shrugged again after a too-long pause. "Grace isn't coming. She said this case was a waste of her talents."

Grant peered closely at both of them for a few seconds. "Is there something I should know?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Trevor answered, sincerely.

*

"I hate mud," Grant complained.

Trevor looked around at the wet, grassy land on the very edge of town, and the small brick house sheltered under trees in the distance. "I don't know. I can think of a lot worse things."

Carly jogged up to them, mud splashing up on the jeans and canvas shoes that made her look like a teenager. "Just the one guy home. He sold me something, but I have no idea what it is?" She held up a clear plastic bag, looking perplexed.

"Okay. Carly and I will go in. You two, watch the exits."

Trevor took up his position by the back gate. He'd counted two minutes, then three, before a man jumped through an open door and came barreling in his direction. He was older than Trevor had expected, going bald at the crown.

"Stop! FBI!" Grant yelled.

Trevor stepped into the man's path, shoulders squared, but the man didn't slow his escape. Instead they both hit the wet ground with a heavy, squelching sound. A solid punch hit Trevor square in the face, and he threw a punch of his own, catching the dealer square on the jaw and wrestling him into a subdued position. 

Grant arrived, his gun extended, eyes searching for danger. Carly followed just a few steps behind. She was holding a weapon besides her own, gripping it carefully. She holstered her usual weapon, then began to check the other for ammunition.

Grant looked at the dealer, who was splayed on the ground under Trevor's grip. "Thought you said you didn't know anything about this."

"Is that all you want?" the dealer spat out, still struggling. "Just take it!"

"It belonged to a friend of ours," Grant answered. "First, we want to know how you got it from him."

"Tall guy? Dark hair? Kinda sad-looking?"

Grant nodded at the rudimentary description of the missing team's leader, 3976. "Sure."

"Look. I didn't take anything from him. He sold it to me."

Grant paused. "Why would he do that?"

"Said he wouldn't need it any more. Guess he was going on a trip." The dealer eyed Grant suspiciously, before swinging his gaze to the rest of the team. "You'd think friends of his would know about that."

Trevor let go of the dealer's wrists, and found Carly looking at him in amusement. "What?"

"Just wondering if you still like mud," she said. Trevor looked down at his wet, splattered clothing, and shrugged.

*

"What happened to your face?" Annabelle asked. Her breathy, high voice rose up at the end of the question.

Trevor looked up. He was hovering outside Grace's office, where the door was closed and the lights inside dark despite it being a school afternoon. "I got punched by a drug dealer."

"Oh em gee. Are you okay?" The teenager leaned closer.

"I'm fine." Trevor waved her off in distraction. "Have you seen Ms. Day?"

"No?" Annabelle wrinkled her nose unhappily. "Last time I went into her office, she told me that I was fat."

"That's ridiculous. You're beautiful," Trevor said.

Annabelle preened, smiling at him. "You think so?" When Trevor didn't respond, she added, "Are you headed to geography? I can save you a seat."

Trevor squinted through the window in Grace's door one last time, then shook his head. "I've actually got to go."

Annabelle's black-rimmed eyes brightened in interest. "Are you ditching? Can I come?"

"Yes, I am, and no, you can't." Trevor patted the girl on her shoulder, reaching up to activate his comm with his other hand. "Education is important, Annabelle. Stay and learn."

Trevor turned on his heel and headed out the east exit, ignoring the soft, confused grumbling that followed in his wake.

*

"Hey, Philip?"

"I'm here?" Philip sounded surprised at the unexpected contact.

"You know that thing you did with my phone? Can you do that for Grace?"

"The location search? Sure. Now?" 

"Please," Trevor said, and there were rustling noises in the background as Philip moved closer to his computer.

Philip cleared his throat. "This may be a stupid question, but have you tried just calling her?"

"I tried." Trevor dashed to the end of the bike stand. He flew through the digits of the lock combination, saying a silent thanks for steady fingers and healthy, seventeen-year-old lungs. "No answer."

"Huh." There was a pause, broken by the taps of clicking keys, and then Philip repeated the same mystified noise. "Huh."

"What?" Trevor shouted, trying to be heard over the noise of passing traffic as he cycled out of the parking lot.

"Her phone's off the grid. It could just be out of juice, though. Or maybe she dropped it in the sink?"

"Yeah, that sounds like Grace," Trevor muttered sarcastically under his breath. "You're the one who thought there might be a problem."

"Yeah. I'm just saying, maybe don't freak out."

"I'm not freaking out."

Philip made a wordless, amused noise. "Yeah, I can tell. But we don't actually know anything yet."

Trevor nodded, relenting and taking a deep breath. "You're right. I'll see what I can find out. I'm headed to her house now."

*

Grace Day lived alone on a quiet, leafy street. It was the same house that Trevor had abducted her in front of. Trevor felt a familiar pang of guilt as he climbed up the steps. Trevor rang the doorbell, listening closely to the repeated sound echoing behind the walls. 

Trevor raised one hand in a fist, and pounded on the door with the length of his forearm. "Nothing, man."

"Still no sign of her phone either," Philip relayed.

"Yeah, okay." Trevor glanced furtively in both directions down the street. "Can you keep an eye on the police calls for me?"

"Yep. You breaking in?"

Trevor bent to pick up the rake that sat hidden behind an empty flower pot, then hefted the iron tool in both hand. "Looks like it."

He wound up a hard backswing, lining up the motion with Grace's front window, then jumped backwards in surprise as the door opened with a click.

"Trevor!" Grace shouted at him. She stood in the doorway looking unusually tired and pale. "Don't you dare break my windows! What is wrong with you?"

"Uh." Trevor lowered the rake apologetically. "I was worried about you, actually."

"Trev, you find her?" Philip's voice cut in.

"I--"

Grace scowled. "Who are you talking to? Come inside, already."

"Philip. He's at ops," Trevor explained as he followed her inside. "You weren't answering your calls."

"I wasn't?" Grace frowned. "That's weird. Let me see your phone?"

"Sure." Trevor eased his phone out of his jacket, handing it to her. "You didn't get any of my messages?"

Grace shrugged, then threw Trevor's phone into a vase on the nearby hall table, half-filled with water. Trevor leapt forward. He reached one hand into the vase and soaking his shirtsleeve, but the screen had already gone black.

"What the fuck?" Trevor yelled. "What is wrong with you?"

Grace stared at him, blinking, then swayed and pitched forward. Trevor threw out both arms as quickly as he could, to catch her falling frame.

"Grace! Are you okay?"

Grace's eyes rolled in her head, unfocused, and then she threw up on Trevor's shirt.

*

"Philip, you there, buddy? I found her." 

Philip wasn't responding to Trevor's repeated messages across the comm. Trevor sighed, turning back to the more immediate problem. Grace sat on her living room couch, hunched over a full glass of water. She sipped it reluctantly. Her eyes tracked him carefully as he moved through the house, and her skin was still colourless and clammy. 

"You should have told someone you were sick," Trevor said, pulling the clean t-shirt he'd found in Grace's laundry room over his head.

"I'm not sick."

Trevor's mind was racing. He was good at puzzles, but something part of this one was still just out of reach. "You're home in the middle of the day for no reason?"

Grace's eyes raised guiltily to his, but she didn't say anything. 

"No internet," he added, glancing around the sparse living room. "You probably destroyed your phone just like you did mine, my comm is dead, and now you're trying to tell me that you're hiding out in a home you've made Director-proof for no reason? Come on, Grace. What are you scared of? Why didn't you just tell someone when you got sick?"

"I'm not sick!" Grace yelled. "This is a perfectly natural process!" 

The room was silent. 

"I just wish it didn't have to be so messy," Grace added, petulantly. 

Trevor stared at her as the details finally clicked together, the picture clearing. "Oh, my god. You broke Protocol 4."

Grace scowled at him. "I didn't break anything. The little parasite had already moved in when I got here. You, on the other hand--"

"Me, what?" Trevor asked. He spread his hands defensively. Grace looked at him, and then glanced away.

"Well, this fucking thing is yours. Isn't it?"

"Oh, my god," Trevor said again.

*

"No, thank you." The lack of any actual gratitude in Grace's tone was underscored by the way she swatted away Trevor's hand, as it held out a mug of hot peppermint tea. 

"I have four kids, Grace. I've seen the first trimester before. You have to at least drink something." Trevor set the mug down gently on the glass coffee table.

"Please. A little dehydration is the least of my worries. Apparently I'm a single mother. The deadbeat dad, whoever he is, hasn't contacted me once since I've been in the Twenty-First. No calls, no texts, no attempts to Netflix and--whatever."

"It's Netflix and chill. Rene taught me that one, or tried to anyway." Trevor sighed. "Grace, there was no pregnancy on the historical record. You know that, right? This is an error."

She rolled her eyes, still avoiding Trevor's gaze. "No kidding. I'm the one who's puking!" 

"This could change history. Protocols Three and Four--"

"Don't lecture me on the protocols! I wrote the damn protocols." Grace subsided, taking a breath. "I haven't even done anything yet, for god's sake. I just needed time to think about it."

"Think," Trevor repeated. "Yeah. Okay."

"Wait. Really? You're not going to turn me in?" Grace stared disbelievingly.

"No, I'm not."

"Well, why not?" Grace demanded. "Now you're the one in violation--"

"Grace," Trevor interrupted patiently. "You said you needed time to think. So you're going to do that, and I'm going to go check in with ops before they decide to come find me. I'll come back and check on you. Do you want me to bring anything?"

Grace hesitated. "I might be able to stomach another one of those milkshakes."

"Done. I'll see you later."

He left Grace sitting on her couch, staring silently out of the window.

*

Trevor rode his bike to ops, his mind racing the entire way. "Your comm went silent." Philip said worriedly when he arrived. 

"I know, it must have been a dead zone. Sorry about that."

"You find her?"

Trevor shook his head, and Philip's brows shot up in worry.  
"Should we keep looking?"

"She'll turn up." Trevor nodded at Philip's display monitors. "What've you got cooking here?"

Philip shot Trevor a curious, lingering glance before he answered. "Oh, Marcy went through the missing travelers' effects. She thinks one of the hosts has an iron deficiency. Another one has a bad back but is allergic to most common painkillers, and at least one of the team has an apparent weakness for a candy bar you can't usually find in this part of the country."

"And that's useful?"

"Believe it or not, yes. I'm writing an algorithm that will alert me if that particular combination of products passes through a checkout register on one purchase." Philip glanced up, smiling wryly. "It's fun. You should hang out with Poppy while you're here. Pretty sure she's been pining."

"Yeah, I can stay for a bit. I'll get started on my math homework." Trevor looked at the turtle, turning in a languid circle underneath the rays of its heat lamp. "But I don't have any lettuce."

"Check the fridge," Philip said.

*

Trevor was still at ops after the sun set. He stood just outside the garage, breathing in the cool air and looking up at the dark sky. It had been one his favourite games, when he'd first arrived in the twenty-first, to stare up at the sky and track the constellations.

"Three hundred years is barely any time at all to the cosmos," he said to himself.

"Huh?" Marcy had poked her head out of the door, where Trevor was hovering in the cool, murky evening. 

"Nothing. But can I ask you a question?"

Marcy's eyes widened, startled. "I just came out to ask you if you wanted the strawberry milkshake in the fridge? There's an extra for some reason. But sure. What's up?" She stepped closer. Her shoes made a muffled clicking noises on the asphalt. 

"What is it that you think separates us from the Faction?"

"Uh." Marcy wrinkled her nose at the mention of the Faction. "That we don't kill as many people?"

"Is that enough, do you think?"

"Are you questioning the Grand Plan?"

"Not the plan as a whole, no," Trevor answered honestly. "We were almost extinct. Something had to be done."

"Well, you were there in the early days. You know the thinking behind the design of the Traveler program better than anyone of us."

"Yeah. I know we thought we could cut human failings out of the decision making process. Snip out the mess. But humanity's messy. And humanity is why we're doing this."

Marcy looked at him with cool, cautious eyes, finally speaking up when the silence had lapsed for too long. "I don't understand."

Trevor let out a sigh. Despite the youth of his body, he suddenly felt every single day of his age. "Just talking out loud, I guess."

"Look. I know better than anyone that the Director can't get everything exactly right. Neither can we. But it's like you said." Marcy drew a deep breath, following Trevor's gaze to the sky. "We're fighting for our lives."

*

Trevor knocked gently on Grace's door when he returned. He opened it with her spare key when there was no answer. Grace was still on the couch where he'd left her, fast asleep.

"Hey." Trevor shook her gently awake. "Maybe we should get you to bed."

"Ugh." Grace groaned as she roused herself. She yawned twice, weaving dizzily in her path towards the stairs. Trevor put a guiding hand just above her elbow, in case she fell. "This sucks already."

"Yeah, I bet it does," Trevor answered, in sympathy. "But we're sure it's just regular symptoms, right? Tell me you've had a pre-natal check-up, Grace."

"For a mistake baby?" she asked, pointedly.

Trevor was quiet for a moment. "I just don't want anything to happen to you."

"For crying out loud!" Grace raised her hands in frustration. The movement was sharp, her fingers held loosely apart. "Yes, I went to the free clinic where they still write all their records out by hand. They said everything was as expected. All this ridiculous hovering and puppy eyes is exactly why I thought you were the dad, by the way."

"Grace Day and I were just friends," Trevor said. He steered her to the stair landing, knowing that a touch of grief had crept into his voice. 0027 and her host were so different, and he had long ago stopped seeing them both when he looked at her, but sometimes the ghost of memory caught him off-guard. "I know you've had friends before, Grace, even though you're a complete--"

"Bitch?" Grace asked with an audible eye roll. 

"I definitely did not say that."

"Well, you will. Look out for these mood swings." Grace stopped at the doorway of her bedroom, and shot Trevor a glare. "I'm going to get ready for bed. Are you planning to hold the toothbrush for me?"

Trevor stepped back. "No, I better get home. I'm going to come check on you in the afternoon, okay?"

"Looking forward to it!" Grace shouted after him as he descended the stairs two at a time.

"Sleep well, Grace!" he yelled back.

*

"You taking up boxing again?"

Trevor looked up from his breakfast. Patricia had made pancakes, covered in fresh fruit. Trevor savoured every bite. "I'm sorry?"

Gary gestured to his right cheek, mirroring Trevor's face, where the bruise from the dealer's punch was still healing. "Boxing?"

"Oh. Sure. Yeah, I've been boxing." Trevor's hands curled loosely.

"That's good. I'm glad you've taken up a sport again. It's healthy." Gary nodded his head, in morose agreement with his own point. "Especially after all the injuries you've had this year, you know. I was worried."

"There's nothing to worry about, Gary."

Gary lowered his gaze, turning back to study his mug of coffee. "Good. You got a new girlfriend, too? That's what your mom thinks."

"Sorry, nope." When he'd woken this morning, for an instant his consciousness had still inhabited the memory of sleeping in his old body, with his wife curled beside him on the cot as she had every night. The two of them clung to each other, braced against the cold of the shelter. When he'd opened his eyes the illusion had vanished, as it always did.

"Well, you'll find someone. Someone better than Rene. You were always way too good for her anyway."

Trevor took a moment to consider his response, picking through the blueberries on his plate. "That is extremely inaccurate, Gary. But I appreciate the sentiment."

Gary nodded vaguely again, and rose from the table. In Trevor's ear, there was the sound of a comm switching on.

It was Philip. "Guys? I got a hit on my algorithm."

*

"You sure this is the right place?" Carly asked.

"We're sure they've been shopping in this town," Grant said. "The cashier confirmed it."

"I don't get it," Marcy said. She was sharing a vehicle with Trevor, scowling pensively into the passenger side rearview mirror. "They're obviously not captured, or dead. So why go into hiding? The Faction's main weapon is pretending that they're one of us."

"Maybe they thought they were about to get caught," Philip suggested.

"I've got eyes on 4028," Carly said, suddenly. "Motel on the corner of Main and Pine."

When Trevor had circled the streets to Carly's given location, she and Grant had already wrestled 4028 to the ground of the nearly empty parking lot. The traveler was shouting unintelligibly at the top of her lungs, wincing in pain as Carly tightened her hold.

Up and down the plaza, window slates swung open. Trevor swung the car door open and jumped out. "Where are the others?"

"I don't know," Trevor whispered back. "But maybe we're attracting too much attention."

"Two more! 10'o'clock!" Philip yelled.

Trevor sighed. Two figures emerged from the end unit, the room door slamming in their wake. One, a woman, broke left, headed towards the street. Philip followed, sprinting after him at top speed. The other traveler sprinted behind the low buildings and out of sight. Trevor broke off from the others and gave chase.

He rounded the concrete structure into an empty patch of ground where the path forked, bordered by rusted chain-link fences and tracks of dying grass. Trevor caught a streak of movement out of the corner of his eyes, and pivoted quickly, drawing his gun. The traveler's fist swung forward, clutching a rough chunk of stone that dug scratches into Trevor's cheek. He reeled. The gun flew out of his hands, skittering across the ground. Trevor shoved all his weight in 3976's direction, aiming a kick at his midsection and using the next moment to grab the traveler's arms, bending his elbows backwards ruthlessly until he moaned in pain and dropped the stone.

3976 wrenched his arms away. Trevor lifted his fists, ready to attack again, but 3976 had stopped dead in his tracks, raising his empty hands. He hunched his shoulders, fighting for breath. "Look. We haven't done anything. You can just let us go."

"You know that's not really how it works," Trevor said.

"No, it doesn't work at all." 3976's voice rose shakily. "Don't you see? Every subsequent traveler tells us that things are getting worse."

"Protocol 2 exists for a reason."

"Fuck the Director's protocols!" 3976 yelled. "The Traveler program has failed. We lost. It's time for the rest of us to face facts and take whatever refuge we can in the Twenty-First."

Trevor grimaced, his mouth curling in disgust. "Is that what this is about? Selfishness?"

3976 advanced one step, then another. His hands, still raised in the air, were shaking. "Surviving isn't selfish. It's all we've got--"

Carly had snuck into arms-length distance while 3976 was talking, as quiet as a cat and lightning-fast. The hand that held her gun snapped out, and 3976 slumped to the ground, unconscious.

"What was that for?" Trevor asked her. 

Carly looked at him, stone-faced. "Too much talking. He was getting ready to make a move on you."

"I had it under control," Trevor answered defensively.

"Maybe you did, and maybe you didn't." Carly stared at him more closely, a faint trace of concern passing over her face. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah? Why?"

Carly gestured to his head. Trevor reached up, touching his just below his right eye, and discovered he was bleeding.

*

Afterwards Trevor sat on the narrow gurney in ops while Marcy cleaned the cuts on his face. Grant had driven the three captured travelers to FBI headquarters in handcuffs, on thin charges that would hold up long enough for the Director to adjudicate and lay sentence.

"He swore an oath," Trevor said quietly, to no one in particular.

"Don't move," Marcy scolded him.

"It's true. They were hiding in a motel with no wi-fi service, but none of them were hurting anyone."

"What about the gun 3976 sold to a future murderer?" Carly asked. "We can't account for all the ripples effects. That's why we have the Director."

"He was hurting all of us." Philip spoke from across the room. He'd been quiet since they'd returned. "We all made the same sacrifice. No one gets special treatment."

The room fell silent.

*

"Grace, what are you doing?"

Trevor had let himself in, and found Grace sitting on the floor of her living room, surrounded by bits and pieces of tech, the innards of an unfinished device.

Grace cursed, pulling her hand back from the smooth outer surface of the biggest piece, as if she'd been stung by the current. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

Trevor surveyed the scattered parts, recognising them immediately. "It looks like you're building an attenuation field generator to fully hide from the Director. By yourself. While pregnant. But that would be ridiculous for multiple reasons."

"Why?" Grace asked. "Because I'm a programmer and not an engineer? Engineering isn't so hard."

Trevor didn't respond to the insult. He shrugged lightly. "How about I help you anyway? This is my specialty."

"Whatever." Grace gestured to the floor, and Trevor knelt down, examining the half-finished work with his fingertips. 

"You're making good progress," he said. "But I think you've got this part backwards."

"It's not that I don't understand the mechanics. It's just that--dammit." The piece that she had been slotting into place fell out of her grip, tumbling to the floor. She let out a sharp noise of frustration. "My hands won't stop shaking."

"Have you eaten anything today?" Trevor asked her, and when Grace remained silent, he added, "I brought you some food. It's called banana bread? Patricia made it."

"Bananas," Grace said, humming appreciatively and placing her hands flat on her thighs to steady them. "I'm so glad I don't have to interact with my host's family. I have an aunt and a sister that called me on my birthday. To scold me for not having a husband or a better paying job."

"I'm sure they love you in their own way."

Grace's face scrunched up, unimpressed. "You actually like them. Your host's family."

Trevor shrugged, his tone growing philosophical. "They're my family now. They're not perfect, and they didn't raise me, but they'll be around me for as long as they can. They care what happens to me. Kind of like you guys."

"That's sweet," Grace said, her pale lips stretching into a grimace. "I'm going to throw up."

"Yeah, yeah. Just admit that we're your family too."

"No, dumbass. I mean that I'm actually going to throw up."

She almost knocked him over in her race to the bathroom.

*

"You know you're supposed to hit 'em back, right?" Gary said when he saw the second bruise.

"It's not safe," Patricia said, clucking unhappily. "What if you get another concussion?"

"I'm fine," Trevor said.

*

"I'm fine." Grace dug a spoon through the container of jello that he'd mixed and left in her refrigerator the night before. Trevor leaned against the kitchen island, watching her eat.

"I could bring our medic over to check on you," he suggested. "I mean, I'm sure they did their best over at the free clinic. But it couldn't hurt."

"Ugh." Grace's mouth was full. "Bad idea. Marcy hates me."

"She doesn't hate you. She just hates what you did."

"It is adorable how wrong you are."

Trevor sighed. He continued to watch her eat for a moment. "What about the family you mentioned? Are any of them close by? I could go get them for you."

"Look, 0115." Grace's spoon rattled against the side of the glass bowl. "If you have better things to do, you can just go. You don't have to try to pawn me off on random losers I've never met."

"I don't have anything better to do. I'm just worried about your emotional well-being, Grace."

She looked up from the bowl and eyed him suspiciously. "You're not going to try to hug me again, are you?"

"I don't know." Trevor couldn't help the ghost of a smile that crept into his voice. "Do you feel like you need a hug?"

"Hmmn." Grace tilted her head, studying him as if she was actually considering it. "Maybe later."

*

_3:59 You found Grace? Everything's okay?_

4:06 I can't answer that right now, Philip.

_4:06 Can't, or won't?_  
_4:07 Never mind._

*

"You know you can't stay in here forever," Trevor called over his shoulder, as he filled Grace's empty fruit bowl with the fresh groceries he'd brought. Oranges, plums, avocados. There was so much that the people of the Twenty-First took for granted.

Grace appeared in the kitchen doorway, still wearing her pajamas. "It doesn't need to be forever."

"Just till you give birth?" Trevor asked. "Until the kid goes to pre-school? Or college?" Trevor held out an apple. "Here. You're gestating a new human life. You need vitamins."

Grace accepted it, studying the surface carefully for a moment. "Don't get ahead of yourself. I told you, I just need to think about it." She bit into the apple.

"You told me that," Trevor agreed, "but I don't think that's what you're doing any more. You're keeping it, and you don't trust the Director to agree."

Grace made a scoffing noise around her mouthful of fruit. "Excuse me if I'm a little cautious. The Director just made me the star clown in its circus trial. It used me."

"In a way, it uses all of us," Trevor pointed out. "That's how the Grand Plan works."

"Don't tell me how--"

"For what it's worth, I don't think the Director will punish you for something that not even it could predict." Trevor interrupted her, his voice rising in volume, gently urging. "Look, Grace Day must have known she was pregnant, right? We have no evidence she was planning to do anything besides carry on with it."

"Protocol Five," Grace said, after a moment.

"Protocol Five, Grace. In the absence of clear direction, live out your host's life. And in this case, that means--"

"Raising a baby," Grace said. Her voice was hushed in volume, sounding wondering and slightly dazed.

"Yeah," Trevor agreed.

"I have no fucking idea how to do that."

"Well," Trevor said, "all of my kids were raised in Shelter 6. I don't know very much about children in the Twenty-First. But I'll help you, however I can."

"I'll think about it," Grace said, again.

*

"I've been thinking," Philip said, when Trevor stopped by the garage two days later, "about getting Poppy a companion."

"Two turtles? That sounds good."

"Yeah, friends are good. For example, I'm your friend. Right?"

" What?" Trevor looked up in surprise. "Of course we're friends. If I've done anything to offend you--"

Philip sighed. "I'm not offended, Trev. Even when you tell me really obvious lies about what you've been up to."

Trevor hesitated. "Philip--"

"It's okay, dude. I've just got to assume that if you had a problem, or needed help, you would know that you could ask me for it."

"Oh." Trevor was momentarily struck quiet. "I do know that, actually."

"Good. The Twenty-First is hard enough without each of us trying to make it harder by going it alone."

"True words," Trevor agreed, then reached up to catch the odd plastic cube that Philip tossed at him. It landed in his palm with a soft noise, and he stared at it. "What is this?"

"It's a stress ball? Ray left it for me. He said sometimes it helps." Philip shrugged.

Trevor looked at him, then looked around the low-lit garage. Poppy was placidly swimming in her tank, ignoring them. "Have you gotten out of here at all today?"

Philip shook his head, pointing at his screen. "I actually have to keep an eye on this--"

"Come on, Philip." Trevor clapped him on the shoulder. "The Twenty-First has some good things to offer, and it can't hurt to take advantage of them once in a while."

"You know," Philip said, letting himself be hauled reluctantly to his feet, "a friend of mine once told me that you don't have to be the caretaker of the entire team."

Trevor smiled. "Yeah? That guy sounds smart."

Philip smiled back. "He's all right."

"Well, come on. A lap around the park, and then I have to go check on someone."

*

Two hours later Trevor hopped off his bike on Grace's street, and found her front door ajar. He hesitated, reaching for the weapon he'd normally be wearing on a mission. But he was dressed as Trevor Holden today, carrying nothing besides a backpack full of textbooks. Trevor hefted it with both hands, just in case, and crept towards the door.

"Grace?" he called out quietly as he stepped across the porch.

"What?" Grace's caustic voice shouted back. When he entered, she was on her feet, wearing familiar street clothes, pacing up and down the entryway. Trevor almost hit her with the swinging door when he entered, and she stepped backwards, the lines of her face creasing in her usual irritation.

"Whoa! Watch it."

"Sorry." Trevor lifted his hands in mock surrender, dropping the bag, then looked around. "What are we doing?"

"You are keeping your opinions to yourself. I am thinking about going out there." Grace stressed the pronouns, pointing at him, and then she jerked a hand in the direction of the street.

"I think that's a good idea."

"I didn't ask you," Grace was still warily watching the doorway, hovering a few steps back from the threshold as if it might bite her.

"Well, that's my opinion anyway." Trevor watched her fondly. "Think of all the things you can do out there. You can go back to work--"

"That job is pointless."

"Or go get a checkup? Or your former student, Trevor, can throw you a baby shower?"

"If I see one pastel balloon," Grace said, shooting him a glare as she inched closer to the door, "I'll overwrite you myself."

"Okay."

"Don't get all overexcited, 0115. I'm just taking a walk."

"Okay," Trevor said again, standing beside her. Grace took one more step towards the street.


End file.
